


Benefits Of Curiosity

by RussianWitch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alpha John, Anal Sex, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Harold Finch, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 17:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: When John locked onto  Harold originally, it had been a self-defensive measure: a way for him to protect himself against beta and omega offenders who might try to take advantage of an unattached alpha's weakness primarily, that it also helped to put the general population who still doesn't trust unbonded alphas at ease, that had been a nice bonus.





	Benefits Of Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

When John locked onto Harold originally, it had been a self-defensive measure: a way for him to protect himself against beta and omega offenders who might try to take advantage of an unattached alpha's weakness, that it also helped to put the general population who still doesn't trust unbonded alphas at ease, had been a nice bonus.

It was the first trick the army taught grunts: imprint on one of the omega sergeants, a fellow squad-mate would do in a pinch, but someone on _your_ side of the line to minimize the chance you'd go off half-cocked and get yourself bonded to the enemy, or just killed trying to get at some bitch because your hormones took over. It didn't even have to be an omega you locked onto, but that usually helped, the pills all of them got every month took care of the rest.

The Company, taking advantage of biological imperative, had insisted on using only omegas as handlers to keep the more volatile alpha and beta operatives in check. Snow had been very good at dangling himself in front of Reese, between him and Kara, John spent months on end in a haze of hormonal confusion, doing everything to please and never stopping to think about the things he was doing, not until it had been too late.

With Harold the principle the same, the difference is that Snow knew what John needed, had actively encouraged the pseudo-bond, but Harold, Harold had never been in the military so he doesn't know about this particular tactic, and John doesn't see the use in mentioning it and making Harold feel responsible or something. Harold won't even notice anything has changed, only John will know and it will be good for both of them long term. The pseudo-bond will help to keep them from drawing unnecessary attention to themselves, and if it also allows John to pretend that someday there could be more, Harold _really_ doesn't need to know.

Thankfully, Harold remains oblivious: he _does_ catch John following him and makes a sport out of disappearing but accepts the food and drink that John brings without comment, giving John a purpose and patching him up when needed. This, as far as John is concerned, can be the rest of his life: taking care of his omega, while Harold does what he set out to do and changes the world. That taking care of said omega mean kneecapping people who want to destroy other people's lives for one reason or another, and never telling Harold that John wants a hug sometimes along with the stitches, and to fuck him six ways from Sunday, well no relationship is perfect.

Harold isn't a typical omega anyway: no children, no mate, no inclination to acquire either as far as John can tell. He seems content with his computers and, if he does indulge it's when John can't observe either said indulgences, or any evidence they leave behind. That may be a good thing, John realizes soon enough, because he isn't sure if he'd be able to control himself if he'd ever spotted Harold with another person, never mind smelled someone else on Harold's skin.

After John has the pleasure of witnessing Harold at his most fierce, he spends the night fucking his fist and biting his pillow, a replay of Harold's biting, haughty words washing over him again and again until he feels empty and rubbed raw. He realizes that wanting Harold to take him home to order around in exactly that tone, is not something he should want.

But then, John knows, he's never been a very typical alpha.

He thinks he's gotten himself under control by the time Harold calls him in again, but as soon as he sees the genius hunched over his computer every filthy fantasy he's had in the last few days comes pouring back into his mind. Harold's sharp, always slightly sickly scent fills John's nostrils and makes his head spin.

"What's the number?" he asks, instead of if Harold wants to be licked until he cries.

Harold twitches and turns his chair so he's facing John. A blush brings some color to his face, his eyes wider than usual behind their frames.

"Harold?" John prompts again as Harold's nose twitches. He's used a special soap to keep the evidence of the night's activities to a minimum, not wanting to subject the omega's heightened sense of smell to the barrage of unwanted alpha lust. Harold's nose twitches again, and John wonders if he shouldn't be stepping back, maybe getting out altogether.

"There is no number, Mr. Reese," Harold finally states, "but, I do require your presence."

"What's going on?" he asks, wondering if he's been wrong about Harold not listening in on him during downtime. John has fantasized about Harold listening in before, now he won't be able to stop thinking about it ever again.

Not that this is exactly the time for it.

"As much as I hate to be this crude, I haven't been unaware of your—sex, Mr. Reese. It has not presented any difficulties so far, but I fear after our last case—," Harold falls silent looking agonized as he searches for the right words.

John decides to help him out of his misery. "It hasn't been a problem, and it won't be."

"The difficulty, isn't on your side," Harold interrupts before John can give proper assurances, "but on mine. I've never spent a lot of time around alphas, Nathan did a good job of passing for one, but he was a beta and until starting this endeavor, I'd avoided being confronted with one."

He looks faintly embarrassed, and for once refuses to meet John's eyes, "when I was growing up, there were certain expectations of omegas I couldn't see myself fulfilling and avoiding the issue seemed for the best—"

"Harold, you don't have to—," John tries, but this is more information than he's ever received from Harold before, so instead of continuing he bites his lip and hopes Harold will continue.

"I know I don't have to," the genius bites out, "but you deserve to know nevertheless: you smell good, Mist—John." Harold finishes his ears turning red, and John's world spins out from under his feet, "I tell you this not to obligate you to anything, but to clarify why my behavior towards you might be somewhat untoward for, ah, a time," and John will have to grit his teeth and hide his disappointment because the way Harold puts it, he doesn't actually _want_ to be interested in John.

"Do you want me to stay away?" he offers instead of asking what he could do to make Harold actually want him.

"I'm hoping that won't be necessary, but if you feel uncomfortable in any way—," like Harold could ever do anything to make John uncomfortable. He takes a step closer, and now that he's looking for it, there is a new note in Harold's scent one that he'd be happy to smother himself in.

"John?" Harold asks, but John is too distracted to answer. The scent of Harold's arousal is just as complicated as the omega himself...

"John!" Harold snaps, and John jerks back wondering how he's ended up on his knees in front of Harold's chair.

"Sorry," he mumbles scrambling back to a civilized distance, "won't happen again."

"John do you—?" Harold cuts himself off before finishing the question, "I'm sure you, you have far better offers out there." he mutters, more like he's trying to convince himself instead of questioning John.

"I hadn't noticed," because he hadn't cared.

John keeps his eyes on the floor, getting back to his feet, "I won't let it get in the way of work, don't worry."

Keeping himself in check will be difficult, but not impossible. It's not like he's around Harold that much anyway, and more information exchanges could be done by computer and earpiece...

"Frankly, it hadn't crossed my mind that you would—," Harold says, "my confession was purely meant to explain the situation, not to pressure you into returning the sentiment."

"Who needs pressuring?" John rubs a hand across his face, "you smell good, probably would taste good too—," he blushes. Saying things like that is—bad, certainly won't endear him to Harold in any shape or form. He used to be smoother, used to have far more control before the company spent years twisting and pulling at his sexuality until John had started to occasionally consider accidentally getting himself castrated. "Sorry, I think—do I get sick days, you've never said?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

"Sick days? Are you feeling ill?" Harold frowns, turning to the computer probably looking up local physicians, then stopping abruptly, "Mr. Reese," he asks, his back to John, "would you like to—taste me?" his voice rises on the last word as if Harold can't believe the implication, even now with John sitting at his feet.

"Yeah, if you don't feel pressured to return the sentiment," John smirks up at him viciously, getting distracted by the rise in arousal that changes Harold's scent and makes John's mouth water.

"If you would follow me?" Harold's good leg knocks John's shoulder as the genius circles him, not even bothering to look back as he leaves the room.

In an office that's been converted into a make-shift bedroom, Harold turns to him, invades John's personal space—and John has to hold his breath, baring his neck, to keep himself from pushing Harold down on the bed and ripping his clothing off.

"You smell bonded," Harold frowns up at him, reaching for John's neck to feel for a bonding scar that isn't there to find.

"Unbonded alphas make people nervous," he shrugs, waiting for Harold to put two and two together. He leans into Harold's touch, swallowing a purr at the small hurt of Harold's nails dig into the side of his neck, sharp pinpricks now, and the possibility of deep welts down his back later.

"How practical of you," the sharp nails raise thin welts on John's neck and throat, teasing mercilessly, and John lets it happen because it's Harold, John would kill and die for him so suffering a little sexual frustration is easy, "undress, please." the omega orders mildly, in an almost bored tone, stepping away to carefully dispose of his own suit.

John isn't shy about his body, it's a tool and little else, an attractive one, honed for his particular purposes but John isn't particularly attached to it. Harold approves at least from the smell of him, and John can't help preen a little, folding his hands at the back of his neck to give Harold an uninterrupted view.

He doesn't expect Harold to squeeze his knot, prodding at the base of his dick, humming under his breath the way he does at Gianni's picking out fabrics for a new suit, or at one of the bakeries looking for the perfect pastry to suit his mood. It's like John's dick is another of Harold's small indulgences, and the thought of that makes John's knees tremble.

He gives into the urge once Harold let's go, dropping to his knees next to the bed, curling down into a ball, until he can but at Harold's ankle with his cheek, leaving the first traces of his scent on Harold's skin.

"None of that, you agreed to my offer, Mr. Reese, and I plan to collect," Harold reminds him after a minute, he tugs at John's hair until he sits up with a groan, "help me get comfortable."

John is more than happy to pull down the sheets and bring more pillows after Harold lowers himself onto the bed. Now that he's nominally allowed, John takes every opportunity to touch; a stroke here, a squeeze there as he makes sure Harold's bad leg is well supported.

"That will do," Harold finally says, sprawl among pillows like a sultan on a throne. John kneels between his spread legs, trails his hands up Harold's body enjoying the contrast between the tanned backs of his hands and the pale skin of Harold's belly and chest. Harold makes an annoyed noise but doesn't pull away when John gently takes his glasses offsetting them carefully on the nightstand. This close, arched over Harold's body, John can smell his rising arousal. He can't resist lowering himself on top of Harold chasing as much skin on skin contact as possible.

The omega hisses, digging his nails into John's shoulders, pushing John down his body and he goes happily mouthing at skin along the way. "Don't dally, Mr. Reese!" Harold orders, tugging lightly at his hair until John is nuzzling the curve of Harold's belly his chin rubbing at the base of Harold's dick. John mouths the half-hard flesh, memorizing the taste and the way Harold's breath hitches at the first flick of John's tongue.

John likes Harold's dick a lot, it's small enough that he can swallow it down and suck to hardness without choking, a nice weight on his tongue. He likes the way the flesh twitches in his mouth slowly firming up under his ministrations.

"John!" Harold gasps a note of censure in his tone that has John rubbing against the soft cotton sheet. He lets Harold go with one last firm lick just under the head that is rewarded with a drop of tangy fluid, John can savor as he works his way down the small furry balls, along the perineum to the asshole that's already glistening with slick.

John swirls his tongue around the twitching muscle, gathering the taste and teasing Harold into groaning, pulling away to nip at pale thighs, licking the fur flat, surreptitiously checking if the muscles are still relaxed and Harold is comfortable.

His teeth ache with the urge to bite down, leave his mark somewhere close to Harold's core where no one will see unless—he growls to himself, tongue stabbing and flicking viciously while he gets himself under control.

Harold can decide for himself who gets access to his body, for all John knows there is a beta waiting for him to come home, unaware of John's existence or Harold's infatuation. He licks and sucks, working his tongue deep into Harold's hole, massaging the muscle until it relaxes letting him in, the slick inner walls of Harold's body rewarding him with more slick to lap up.

Harold's heavy breath and smothered moans guide his efforts, the heel of Harold's good leg digging into his spine in encouragement—John pulls back to catch his breath, rubbing his cheek against Harold's thigh, his stubble irritating pale skin and catching on the soft hair that covers Harold's legs. His dick throbs against the sheets, he feels himself leaking, making a mess where he lies, his balls throbbing, painfully full and getting sensitive.

"John!" Harold gasps, tugging at John's ear. He has to wonder how often Harold has called his name already before he noticed. John would be happy to ignore the call and keep on licking, but Harold reaches down and manages to grab his ear in a way that can't be ignored.

"Mr. Reese!" he tugs harder, more insistently while John thrusts his tongue as deep into Harold as he can manage, only looking up when Harold pinches his ear viciously.

"Yeah?" he finally asks grudgingly, allowing himself to be dragged up, to crouch over Harold's body, biting back a whine at the loss of contact with the sheet. Harold will not want John to make a mess of him, drip all over his belly, or worse, hump the soft furry mount of it until he comes, that isn't what he's there for.

"Come up here, please," Harold is hoarse, his lips raw looking, bitten to bruising, John wants to kiss them, sooth the swelling with his own lips and tongue...Harold's fingers ease up on John's ear, trace his jaw gently, wrinkling his nose at the slick that gathers on his fingers, until he gets to John's lips.

He opens up, takes in Harold's fingers without being asked, cleaning them noisily, sucking every molecule of slick off Harold's skin, sinking into the taste of him again. The hand on his dick startles him, makes him jerk back startling Harold into a painful looking spam.

"Sorry," he says, wrapping his hands around Harold's thigh, rubbing the twitching muscles until Harold looks less strained, "I—," he doesn't want to say that Harold's touch will be too much, that he'd lose control and—the mere thought of Harold touching him, the thought of being allowed to slide himself into Harold's body, to feel him hot and wet pulsing around his flesh has John panting desperately torn between contradicting impulses, "you don't have to...just, you said I could—taste, I want that—," he finds himself babbling...

Harold frowns up at him, the way he does when he's unhappy with John's methods in the field, "do you want to stop?"

"You told me you weren't interested in alphas," John reminds him, aroused omegas—they can make poor choices after all.

"I told you I wasn't interested in fulfilling certain expectations, which most alphas had at the time. _Not_ that I wasn't interested in alphas in general." Harold corrects him primly, or as primly as possible when naked and aroused, "if that was your only objection, John—you will get up here and let me—explore?"

"Christ!" escapes him as John goes weak in the knees at the order, his dick throbs, knot aching for stimulation, a glob of slick forming at the tip, the fat drop of it tearing loose and dropping on Harold's thigh with a splash audible in the silence.

"Now! Mr. Reese!" Harold growls, and John obeys in a daze, scrambling up so his dick is in easy reach for Harold to—he digs his nails in the palms of his hands, ordering his body to wait!

If Harold is curious...

Harold's first, hesitant, touch has him sucking in oxygen, and biting back a growl, or possibly a whimper. It's too soft, more of a tease than the genius probably intends, his fingers skimming over John's flesh the same way the skim over fabric samples at the tailor's, _evaluating_. He wonders what Harold's parameters are, what he's curious about and if John fits them.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a fever," Harold murmurs, the smell of his arousal grows thicker as he works his way up to the base of John's dick, where his knot lies just under the surface, under the wrinkly skin that stretches as it swells until it's shiny and tight, "you're so hot—," he tugs on John's hips, guiding him closer, close enough to feel Harold's breath...

The "please" escapes in a tortured groan, his dick jumping at the prospect of feeling a mouth again, feeling _Harold's_ mouth. John bites his lips hard enough to taste blood, distracting himself with the coppery flavor of it as Harold sniffs at him, frowning as he dissects the scent. Leaning heavily on the headboard, John digs in nails into the wood, clawing furrows in the back of it as Harold flicks the tip of his tongue at John's dick, taking his first taste. John is pretty sure that Harold's curiosity is going to kill him, after everything he's going to die from a heart attack, or lack of blood flow to the brain or something.

"Oh dear," Harold's soft exclamation drawl John's attention, there is wonder in the tone, and distress which John doesn't like. He tries to pull away, find whatever is causing the distress and remove it, only for Harold to hang on to him, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize—," he stammers.

John doesn't understand what Harold is apologizing for, he doesn't have enough brain cells to make an educated guess. He wants Harold's mouth back on his skin, wants—a lot of things...

"Are you hurting?" Harold demands, "John, it was never my intention to torment you so!" His hand is on John's flank, warm and comforting, safe and...

"I'm fine," he denies, "do whatever you want..." He can take it, wants to take it because it's Harold.

"And what if I want to feel you fuck me?" Harold asks carefully, freezing John in place.

"What?" He demands, sure that he's hearing things.

"Fuck me, John!" Harold demands, the words sharp and clear, unmistakable and simple. John looks down, meets Harold's defiant gaze head-on, holds it until he's completely sure that Harold means what he said, that he wants—, "now!" he snaps, and John scrambles down, sliding between the prone man's legs, stalling with his aching dick at Harold's dripping hole.

"Please," Harold whispers, and with a sob John pushes in, groaning at the feeling of tight heat that welcomes him. Harold gasps and moans, grabbing at John's shoulders hard enough to bruise, wild-eyed as he feels an alpha taking him for the first time. It takes forever for John to sheath himself completely, to feel the rim of Harold's hole trying to tighten behind his knot in a weak imitation of what he's going to feel once it's swollen and full, plugging Harold up tight.

Harold's face is flushed, eyes big and round as he pants through John's entry. He looks surprised, and part of John wonders if there isn't something Harold forgot to mention...

John is going to have bruises on his shoulders in the shapes of Harold's hands, welts on his back from Harold's nails, he is happy to note rocking minutely into Harold's body wanting to burrow deep enough to maybe get at the man's heart. John shifts his weight, and Harold's rough panting turns into a string of startled curses that eggs John on, shredding his control.

With a growl he speeds up, sucking on the side of Harold's neck, shuddering when Harold tightens around him. He shoves a hand between them, where Harold's dick is rubbing wet and sticky against John's abdomen, flicking his thumb over the sensitive head until Harold is shaking and clawing bloody welts on his back, spilling on John's hand and bearing down hard on John's dick.

Harold jackknives in a strange way, his fused spine making him move in an unnatural way. A high keen escaping him as his whole body seizes up then goes lax. It allows John to slide just that little bit deeper into Harold's body, his swelling knot catching on the rim of Harold's asshole.

In John's hand, Harold's softening dick twitches and Harold whimpers in amazement.

The sound pushes John over the edge, his knot swelling until he can no longer move, trapped in Harold's body, shuddering as release makes him dizzy and weak.

He slumps onto Harold's chest, seeking out the sound of Harold's heartbeat, while the pleasure of release short-circuits his brain.

"Oh dear," Harold pants, his voice somewhat strangled, spurring John into struggling up onto his elbows to give Harold room to breathe, only to be pushed back down, "I did not expect—this..." He trails off, for once seemingly lost for words, "how long?" It takes a moment for John to process the question, not sure what Harold will prefer to hear. Considering all the liberties he's already taken, imposing on Harold's personal space longer than necessary seems rude.

"Something like twenty minutes, I can probably pull out without hurting you then?" John offers with some consideration. He's done it before when necessary and if it will spare Harold discomfort it's a small thing to offer. He's already gotten a hell of a lot more than he'd ever expected already.

"And without hurting yourself?" Harold demands shrewdly.

"Longer," John sighs, unable to feel too guilty still spilling himself into Harold's body, "but—"

"Having never experienced this before, and as pleasant as this is—I'm somewhat at a loss as to what we're supposed to _do_ in the meantime!" He's interrupted, Harold's tone growing sharper and making John squirm and make Harold moan at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Do?" John wonders, not sure what Harold is getting at.

"From what I understand we'll be tied together for close to an hour, and I'm at a loss as to what people do while—" Harold waves a hand over John's shoulder, and John can't stop a laugh from escaping shaking them and making Harold gasp.

"Sorry," John says, not really sorry at all as he feels Harold's dick twitching between them.

"That's quite alright, it's—," Harold trails off, his body tightening experimentally around John, taking his breath away, "it's awfully distracting," he doesn't sound too displeased with being distracted, "you are awfully distracting!" He says somewhat accusingly.

"Sorry," John repeats hiding his smile against Harold's throat, "I—you can nap?" He's never given any thought to _doing_ anything while knotted up.

"Nap?" Harold asks waspishly, the tone sends shivers down John's spine and makes his knot swell, "I think I prefer to read, Mr. Reese."

John's head snaps up, to the sight of a cautious smirk playing across Harold's lips a wordless challenge.

"If you would sit up?" the genius asks, like they aren't locked together, "and hold my book for me?"

Following the command takes effort, leaves both of them groaning and gasping before they are comfortable again and Harold's leg is well supported. John snags the book off the bedside table and offers it to Harold who doesn't take it. "Hold it up for me, and hold still," he orders instead, and with a happy shudder, John does as he's told.


End file.
